Fun with Ferrets, Weasels, and Potties
by Honey Smacks
Summary: Harry Potter and his supercool Gryffindor posse are sent reeling by a quirky seventh year who becomes romanticly interested in Ron. Hermione deals with this strange newcomer and the jealousy that ensues, and Harry struggles to keep his longgone sainty.
1. Harry Potter, Meet Bridget

FUN WITH FERRETS, WEASELS, AND POTTIES

a SLIGHTLY INACCURATE ACCOUNT OF THREE WIZARDS' LAST YEAR AT HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCARFT AND WIZARDRY

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, _Harry Potter, _or "Harry Potter".

Chapter One – Harry Potter, meet bRIDGET 

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, defeater of the Dark Lord four times, famed youngest seeker in a century in his first year, tripped and swore very loudly. "Language, Potter." drawled a voice above him.

"Shuddup, Malfoy," Harry Potter spat, lifting himself from the floor.

"Why do we always call each other by our last names?" Ron wondered aloud.

Malfoy looked at him exasperatedly. "Because it's a sign of resentment, you pig-faced, red-haired buffoon."

They stood in silence, at a loss for words. Harry Potter wasn't sure what to say next. He settled for, "Shuddup, Malfoy," again.

A pretty brunette walked over to them. Harry Potter had never seen her around the school before. Her arms were crossed, blocking view from the house crest on the Hogwarts uniform, so he couldn't tell what house she was in. "Aren't you going to going to introduce me to your charming friends, Draco?" She put her arm around Malfoy's, and eyed Harry Potter and Ron from under long eyelashes, giving Ron a wink.

"No." Malfoy said.

Her arm left his. "Oh, then shall I tell them you wet the bed?"

Malfoy looked quickly at Ron and Harry Potter, who were covering smiles. "That's a lie. Who told you that?"

"My brother," she answered calmly, "Who else? Oops, was that a secret? My bad."

"It's a lie. You're lying."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Do you really think so? You think my thick-skulled brother could come up with that? You're funny, Draco. You're stupider that I thought. And thought that wasn't possible."

Malfoy mouthed words, but no sound left his mouth. Ron burst into giggles, stuffing his fist in his mouth to quiet himself. "Well, I need to jet. Call me, okay _Ron_?" The girl said. She did a little wave; Harry Potter glanced at the now visible house crest. "You're in Slytherin!" he exclaimed.

She gave a little smile and said, "I know." She marched towards Ron, leaned over, and whispered something into his ear, as he jumped. She then left them.

Ron gaped after her. Harry Potter asked his friend, "What'd she say?"

Ron shook his head. "'Nice ass.' She said, and squeezed my bum!"

Harry Potter did not believe this. "You're joking!"

"I'm not," Ron assured him. He stole a peak back at the girl. "I don't even know her name," he realized. "What did she say about her brother?"

Harry Potter didn't know. "I don't know," he said.

"I'm still here, you know." Malfoy reminded them.

To everyone's surprise, Ron grabbed Malfoy by the lapels of his uniform and lifted him off the floor. "Who is she?" he demanded of Malfoy, who wet himself.

"She'd Goyle's older sister. A seventh year. Her name is Bridget."

"_Bridget."_ Said Ron adoringly, dropping Malfoy.

Malfoy, who did not like to be put in fear of his life so much so that he soiled himself, then being dropped on the floor of the Great Hall like a forgotten rag doll, said in protest, "Ow."

"Shuddup, Malfoy." Harry Potter said absently.

**It gets better as you go. Well, If by better I mean more crazy, which I do. Next chapter is a chick fight, Lou, and Ron's tongue.**


	2. Bridget headbutts Hermione

**CHAPTER TWO**

**HERMIONE MEETS BRIDGET. BRIGET HEAD-BUTTS HERMIONE.**

**Disclaima: **I no own Hwarry Potta. Or _Harry Potter._

ten things you didn't want to know about draco malfoy

1- He eats his boogers when he thinks no one in looking.

2- He wets the bed.

3- He sometimes wears leopard print underpants to make himself feel studly.

4- He writes to his Mummy every Sunday.

5- He tried on a dress once.

6- He sometimes snogs his reflection in the mirror.

7- He's on a diet.

8- He is afraid of dogs.

9- He's only ever had one girlfriend in his life.

10- He cries at night sometimes.

Hermione Granger was born in the summer of 1989. She was not tall nor short, neither skinny nor fat, but she owned a cat named Crookskanks. Today, sixteen years, eight months, and nineteen days after her birth, she sat on a toilet seat. She read the list, "Ten Things You Didn't Want to Know about Draco Malfoy", which was etched into the inside of the wooden stall door.

She heard someone enter the bathroom. That same person entered the stall next to hers and stepped up onto the toilet. Hermione screamed and tried to cover herself as the head and shoulders of a seventh year Slytherin girl appeared above the stall walls. "Oh relax," the head said. "We're all girls here."

Hermione did not relax.

"I need to know something." The head continued.

Hermione wondered why she had not yet said something. "GET OUT!"

The person didn't. "Are you Ron Wesley's girlfriend?" she inquired, as though they were discussing the matter over tea.

"NO!" Hermione answered loudly, "NOW GO AWAY!"

"Okay, okay." Bridget Goyle hopped down from the toilet. She muttered, "How rude," but couldn't help smiling to herself she left the bathroom.

later, in double potions… 

Harry Potter and his Gryffindor buddies had double Potions with the Slytherins because Dumbledore loved to torture them and was trying to create inter-house relationships. His plan was failing horribly.

Ron, for once, _wanted _to see Malfoy and his Malicious Booty-luscious Minions. "Bridg-et!" Ron sang, "My star! My everlasting flame of passion! How I long to see your beautiful face!"

"DUDE!" Harry Potter said, "She's in Slytherin!"

Ron replied, "DUDE! She like me! AND she hates Malfoy! They're like, rivals, or something. AND she's older!" Hermione scowled.

"DUDE! She in' SLY-THER-RIN, therefore evil." Harry Potter pointed out.

Ron said, "Dude! That is so stereotypical."

Hermione said, "DUDE! Why the hell are we talking like Americans?"

"KOWABONGA, DUDES!" said the Boy Who Lived, riding an imaginary surfboard.

Ron eyed him reproachfully. "We're here!" announced Colin Creevy.

Harry Potter looked at Colin, wondering when he had gotten there and why he was following them. "When did you get here and why are you following us?" he asked.

"He's so cute," Hermione lied as they entered the classroom. She glanced hopefully at Ron, who had not even noticed she said something.

Snape yelled at them and some other Gryffindors that had arrived, "POTTER! WEASLY! GRANGER! O'NEILY! SMITH! BOOT! POLISH! SPIT! BOTTUM! LICKER! 500 points from Gryffindor!"

"Why?" Harry Potter wanted to know.

Snape shrugged.

Mad-Eye Moody yelled, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"When did you get there, then?" Colin inquired.

"Didn't you just leave?" asked Harry Potter.

"Uh," Colin looked shiftily around, "Got to go!"

They had potions twice; it was boring, Malfoy was stupid, Snape picked on Harry Potter and his buddies and they left.

"OY! Malfoy!" Ron called after Malfoy as they walked to lunch. "Did you wet the sheets last night? Didja pee your pajamas? Huh? Didja?"

"Why would want to know, you gay little turd?" Malfoy called back over his shoulder. Ron turned bright red. Harry Potter executed the Heimlich maneuver, and Ron spat out Colin. Harry Potter then proceeded to trip. Bridget appeared out off nowhere. "Can I have lunch with you, peach fuzz?"

"Peach fuzz…?"

"You like it? Maybe 'scabby pearl' or 'sharp smelly teddy'?"

"Um, peach fuzz is good."

Hermione exclaimed, "You're that girl from the lou!"

Ron looked at her as if he only just noticed she was there. "Oh, have you two met?"

Harry Potter sat down. His foot was killing him. He removed his shoe and sock. He examined it, and upon come to the conclusion that he had attained a blister, he proceeded to attempt inserting his entire foot into his mouth, and failed miserably.

"Ron," Hermione was saying to Ron, "This girl is a total idiot. I was taking a pee, and she…"

Bridget wasn't liking this. Ron said, "Yeah, but what's done is done, right? It's all in the past, am I right?"

Hermione wanted to punch him. She then wondered why she didn't. So she punched him. At this point, Bridget head-butted her. Hermione pulled Bridget's hair, removing some shards. Ron moaned, "Come on, can't we all be friends?"

To which Hermione and Bridget said the obvious answer, which was, "NO!" Bridget rendered Hermione unconscious with her _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7._ Or so was the popular opinion. In reality, Harry Potter had withdrawn his foot from his own jaws and the odor was the reason why Hermione lie on the floor.

**Nuttier than that peanut shit that put in sandwiches, no? NEXT CHAPTER: middle names, gay pride, Dobby and chrome.**


	3. A Duel

**CHAPTER THREE – A DUEL**

**Disclaimer: **Yo sup I don't own J.K.'s boi Harry Potter. Yoy?

Harry James Vincent Stacy Robert Aaron Betsy Rose Edward Matthew Tucker Steven Joshua Garret Emmett Robin Emerson Roger Danger Freddy Henry Potter, who also thought Bridget's SBS Grade 7 was the cause of Hermione's sedated state, pointed a trembling finger inches away from the Slytherin's nose. The Slytherin shoved his finger away and said crossly, "I'm a Hufflepuff, you dope."

"Oh sorry," Harry Potter said and tried again, pointing this time at Bridget. "I challenge you…" He waited the appropriate amount of time to pass for drama, in which he scratched his bum unintelligibly. "…a DUEL!"

Frightening music suddenly swelled in the background, adding just the effect Harry Potter was hoping for.

"A d-d-d-d-d-d—" Ron stuttered. He was stuttering because Malfoy had somehow managed to shut his tongue in a book, sit on the closed book, and bounce up and down on it. "D-d-d-d-d—"

"JUST SPIT IT OUT!" Bridget shouted into his ear.

"D-d-duel?" He finished, flinching.

"YES." Harry Potter was big on dramatic value. "Midnight. DADA classroom. Be there or be a square."

"Um." Bridget looked sheepish. "It's 'be there or be square', not 'be a square'."

"WHATEVER!"

"Groovy. See you then." Bridget blew Ron a kiss and left.

"P-p-p-p-peace out b-b-b-baby." Ron tied to blow a kiss back, but couldn't, thanks to his limp tongue. He turned to his friend. "Y-y-y-you d-d-do Kn-n-n-n-know you're a-a-a-about to get y-y-your arse k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-kicked?"

"I know," Harry Potter squeaked.

"Let's go get some lunch." Hermione was conscious again.

Ron exclaimed, "You're conscious again!"

"Yeah, I'm starving," Harry Potter agreed, ignoring Ron.

The bell, which had never existed in the earlier books, rang, signaling the end of lunch.

"D'oh!" Harry Potter and his Gryffindor buddies cried.

"Damn bell…mothafucka never existed for the past five years…damn fanfic writers always trying to make Hogwarts more like high school…crazy bastards…" Harry Potter grumbled as he slammed the door to his locker, which had just appeared in a whirl of fanfiction accuracy abandonment.

Oliver Wood, who had mysteriously reappeared to be Quidditch Captain, stood in front of Harry Potter, blocking his way. The Boy of Many Names craned his neck to look at Wood, because of course, Oliver was 6' 7", hunky, Irish, and extremely good-looking. Hermione sighed dreamily. "You haven't been to Quidditch practice in a fortnight! What's your deal?" Wood demanded.

Harry Potter scratched his head, loosening dandruff which fell onto his shoulders like snow. "Ew," Ron said.

"Oh yeah. I meant to tell you; I'm quitting the team." Harry Potter brushed the dandruff off his right shoulder onto the head of an unsuspecting first year.

"What? Why?"

Harry Potter shrugged.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "We're late for History of Magic." She said, "So if you'll just excuse us…"

Ron looked at her. "I thought you had that dumbass class Ancient Runes…"

Hermione tossed her mass of tangled locks. "I quit."

Wood turned to Ron. "Do you want to join the team?"

"Actually…I was on the team lasts year…I was…um…Keeper."

"Oh." Wood promptly disappeared in a poof of logic.

They shook their heads and headed towards their next class: History o' Magic!

Professor Binns awaited them, sitting behind his desk as usual, but for some unexplained reason was still droning on and on… The "trio" exchanged looks and sat down. "And that," concluded Professor Binns, "was how the goblin Hattie the Horribly Horny discovered that there was not pot of gold waiting at the end of the rainbow."

"Sounded like a good lesson," Ron sarcastically said, "Let's sit with my friends Dan and Emma, and we'll all have tea and kippers with lots of cream!" he gestured towards a couple of empty desks.

"Ha, ha. Emma. What a dumb name. Haw ha, ha." Hermione laughed.

"That sounds lovely!" pronounced Harry Potter. "Just DIVINE."

Ron punched the air. "Way to go man!" He said flatly. "Gay pride!"

"I AM NOT GAY! Besides, you started it…"

Ron shook a finger at Harry Potter. "That's not very prideful."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the ceiling with her arms crossed, smiling in spite of herself. The ceiling spat in her eye. "Wotevva!" Hermione flipped off the ceiling.

Harry Potter told Hermione bitterly, "I know it's hard but would you please stop being so damn STUPID?" He was angry at Ron for calling him gay. _They must never suspect…_ he thought to himself.

With all this going on, they were the only ones who didn't notice a group of Slytherin seventh years had entered the classroom, Bridget with them. She plopped down on a nearby chair. She patted the seat next to her invitingly. Unknowingly, the had wiped off the virus that, when combined with the perspiration accumulating between dear Ronald's butt cheeks, would spread and kill half the staff and students in the school. (A/N: Douglas Adams, you are DA BOMB!)

Nobody noticed.

"Hello? HELLO?"

"Bridget." Ron scratched his head awkwardly. "Hi. Um…what are you doing here?"

"Weeeeeeeell…I mostly came to say menacing things to your friend Elton over here," she stabbed a finger at Harry Potter, who was rolled in a small ball and rocking back and forth, whimpering to himself that he was too young to die. "but I also came to do this." She stood, seized Ron by the sides of his head and pulled his face to hers, planting her lips on his own unwary mouth, moving her mouth around and slipping a little tongue in…

"DON'T WE HAVE CLASS?" asked Hermione loudly.

Bridget released Ron, who fell limply onto the floor. She took three steps toward Hermione, looking like she was about to throw a punch. Hermione took a step backwards. Bridget giggled evilly.

Dobby appeared with a crack. "Mister Harry Potter sir, let me kiss your sacred bum so that I may be BLESSED with your holy butt-scent."

Bridget raised her eyebrows. "That's hot,"

Professor Binns coughed. The Slytherins Bridget has arrived with jumped at sat in the seats surrounding the ones near her and Ron. Bridget sat too. Ron shrugged, and then sat. Harry Potter and Hermione seated themselves in seats in the row in front Bridget and Ron.

Bridget leaned forward and whispered in Harry Potter's ear. "Tonight, I'm going to smash you flat. Into a pancake. Pancake Potter, that's what they'll call you. Beaten by a girl. But if you think that's all I'm going to do to you, you're dead wrong, mate. I'll put you in the middle of a Muggle parkway and run you over a thousand times in a shiny chrome SUV."

"Does it have to be chrome? Chrome makes my head hurt."

"Okay then, a red SUV. And after I peel what's left of you off the pavement, I'll take safety scissors and cut you into interesting shapes. I'll hang you on my Christmas tree and the leftovers I'll feed to your grubby owl…" Just as she was going into what she was going to do with Hedwig's poo, Professor Binns took a long, deep breath and began his lecture on the formation of the Union of Magical Peoples Inquiring Rule Equality, or U. M. P. I. R. E.

Bridget cleared her throat and raised her hand. "Please," she said in her best sixth-year voice, "I need to use the bathroom." She pinched Ron in the thigh and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Uh, me too." Ron couldn't help from grinning.

"Miss Yoyle? Mr. Wheezy? Why of course."

The stood there.

"Go!"

"Um, could we have passes?"

About five minutes later, Professor McGonagall passed a couple making out right outside the History of Magic classroom. "Do you two have—" They both simultaneously lifted the notes Binns had written them without even pausing from their tongue wrestling. McGonagall scowled and walked off.

That night, at midnight… 

At twelve o'clock in the near-empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry Potter sweated a little. _I must smell horrid, _he thought miserably. Mrs. Norris marched past with a rose in her mouth, followed by a frisky-looking Crookskanks. He gazed at the two felines as they did the tango with surprising skill and ease. He looked away as they began to make little baby kitties.

Bridget stood in the doorway of the Defense of the Dark Arts classroom, casting an ominous shadow on the desktops. The numbskull was too busy watching two cats tango. You'd think he'd never seen a couple of felines dance with each other. Ah, he was looking away from them now. He'd seen her. She smirked.

Bridget was smirking and casting an ominous shadow over the desks. Half her face was concealed in shadow. "I'm going to count to three."

"No way! That gives you an advantage."

"Well, if I can't, you can't."

"Someone has to."

"Not you."

"Not you, either."

Crookskanks said in annoyance, "One, two, three! GO!"

Harry Potter looked at Crookskanks. "Shouldn't you be on top? You're a boy. Mrs. Norris goes on the bottom."

Crookskanks rolled her eyes. "Humans," and went back to…well.

Bridget yelled, "Defeatus Maximus!"

Harry Potter instantly defeated.

**Next chapter is the best one yet, in my opinion. Contains cottage cheese.**


	4. Ghetto Harry

**CHAPTER FOUR – GHETTO HARRY**

**Disclaimer: **YAY Harry in all his ghetto glory! Yummy. Unfortunately, I own not Harry or his ass.

**Warning: **This chapter contains a LOT of colorful language.

Harry Potter slumped over to Hermione in the library the day after his duel. He had been beaten by a girl. He his ass had been thoroughly kicked by a GIRL. The thought was too much. On top of this, he felt like he had a hangover. His head was pounding and for some reason he couldn't shake the mental image of Dumbledore giving McGonagall a lap dance. Not that he'd actually seen such a thing in real life. He had lost a Ayrton in dismay, not feeling the need to eat. He was dealing with such aguish in a very strange way: he had decided to go ghetto. He tapped Hermione on the shoulder and said, "Crookskanks. Yeah. He's a she. Mrs. Norris? She's a he."

"I—what?"

"Neva mind, bitch."

"How do you feel?" she asked him.

"Like a fuckin' pile of shit, how do you think?"

"SHHH!" said the librarian, spaying them with spit.

Harry Potta got all up in her face, yellin' an' shit. "I'LL 'SHHH!' WHENEVER THE HELL I WANT YOU OLD, BATTY, BASTARDING BARMCAKE! FUCK THAT, BITCH!"

"Out!" the librarian pushed him out the door.

"Fuck you." Ghetto Harry gave her the finger. "Fuckin' librarian…show her…show them all…they took the precious…MY preciousssss…we hates them…we kills them…we keels them good…" Potta was too busy muttering to himself to watch where he was going. He, of course, ran straight into Snape. Heaven forbid he goes a single day without contact with this vile, greasy, hygiene-challenged individual.

"WATCH IT POTTER!" He exploded into Harry Potta's face, blowing off his do-rag. "I AM NOT A BULLFIGHTER AND YOU ARE NOT A BULL, AND THOUGH YOU ARE EXTREMELY SEXY I MUST RESIST MY SELFISH KINKY DESIRES EVEN IF YOU SO HOT IN CORNROWS. AND STOP BUMPING INTO ME OR I MAY BE FORCED TO DOCK POINTS!"

"Wha?"

"Er, fifteen points from Gryffindor!"

"Fuck that, bitch." Harry Potta said for the second time that hour.

"DETENTION!" _Perhaps some provocative kinky chores…_Snape thought evilly.

Fortunately, Harry doesn't show up to that. He left Snape waiting by himself with the sequined thong, handcuffs, feathers, and cottage cheese. But that's another story.

"—You mix the lesbian unicorn fetus with the ogre toenail fungus powder and mix it counterclockwise seventeen times—"

Harry Potta interrupted Snape by suddenly starting to rap. It was a pitiful ramble about being the "Boi Who Fucking Lived" that covered various random subjects, like watermelon ("It's all watery and shit") to his "fly" shoes.

The class sat in stunned silence as Harry did a series of C-walks, the Worm, and other various dance moves that they couldn't identify, including some freestyle brake-dancing. Just as he was moon-walking out of the classroom, Snape said, "Pathetic. Malfoy can rap and dance way better than you, boi."

"WHAT did you say…about my mama?"

"Er--no, what I said was—"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY about my MAMA?"

"What?"

"TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT MY MAMA, YOU HALF-ARSED MOTHAFUCKA. WAIT. I TAKE THAT BACK. NOT EVEN YO' MAMA WOULD WANNA KEEP IT SALTLY WITH YOU!"

Snape whipped out his wand. _I hate to do this Potter…I love your fine ghetto ass…but you've left me no choice…_

Harry Potta pulled his out too. "Avada ca Debra!" he cried.

Absolutely nothing happened.

Snape looked at him. "Stupify," he said in a bored tone.

Dumbledore was standing over Harry Potta as he came to. "Good job," the headmaster said sarcastically. Harry Potta had never heard Dumbledore use a sarcastic tone of voice before. It was very fitting. "Absolutely peachy. You've given our Potions Master prostate cancer."

After he left, Ghetto Harry allowed himself a giggle.

Hermione glared at the back of the heads of the two people sitting in front of her. She ground her teeth loudly. She noticed vaguely her nails were digging grooves in the wood on the top of her desk. The two heads were leaning against each other, the vivid red mixing with brown. Spirals of wood shavings curled as he dragged her nails across the once perfect oak. She fought the urge to poke Ron in the head with the tip of her quill as her eye twitched insanely. Instead, she scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment and shoved it into Bridget's hand. Bridget read it, looked back at her, smirking, wrote a reply and threw it over her shoulder. Hermione scowled as it bounced off her forehead and landed in her pumpkin juice.

_I hate you._

Don't hate me cause I'm beautiful. You like my ruddle-doo, don't you, Granger?

_Trust me, I have other reasons._

Oh, Mione! Don't be so jealous.

_My NAME is HERMIONE. Bitch._

Bridget crushed the note in her fist and pointedly leaned against the oblivious Ron.

**Aryton 10 lbs**

**Coming up: an auction, new roommates, and Sherlock Homes.**


	5. Bridget's Mission

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**BRIDGET'S MISSION**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. BIG SURPRISE. BET YOU NEVER SAW THAT ONE COMING.

Bridget looked McGonagall in the eye like a lion-tamer. "I was Aussie kissing my boyfriend, you know, givin' him a BJ, and I was about to tell him watch where he was pouring his baby gravy when I realized…" Bridget chose her words carefully, "I have made a major personality change and I'm in the wrong house." She offered a sniffle. McGonagall's expression softened a little. She was taking the bait. "I no longer suited for my house. They tease me." She began sobbing uncontrollably. "'Silly little girl!' they say. Well I'm not a silly little girl! I am a human being with thoughts and feelings!"

"Come, come now," the teacher said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.

Bridget twisted her face into a look of utter devastation and threw herself onto the professor's desk, howling. "They call me 'a big softie' after I tell them not to make fun of Muggle-born students here." She drew a shuttering breath. "I think I should be re-sorted, Professor."

"But Miss Goyle…why didn't you go to your head of house?"

"Professor Snape? He doesn't understand me. Plus he's a ball-ache. He said I was mystery to him."

"I do so love mysteries!" cried Sherlock Homes.

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT VISITING ME AT WORK, PUDDLES? GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!"

"Fine then, no need to be a bitch about it." Sherlock dropped the accent.

Bridget looked quizzically at her soon-to-be Head of House. "There was an incident with a love potion and a Muggle novel." The professor explained vaguely. "I'm afraid we'll have to see the Headmaster about your little dilemma."

Dumbledore looked up from the Hogwarts rule book. "According to this…" he said, "you need to be auctioned off."

"WHAT?" exclaimed Professor McGonagall and Bridget in unison.

"It says right here:

'_If ye student be in the mind that thou art in the wrongful House, they must stand in fronth the crowd and bids should be cast suppertime. The student will go unto the House of the highest bidder. If unhappy in his newfound House, back to whence he came he shall go.'_"

"That's pretty clear," Bridget admitted. "Okay, how's Friday for you guys? Good? Good. See you in class, bitches."

Bridget and Harry Potter's plucky sidekick were skipping class yet again, making out behind a statue of Ingrid the Innocent. (Who, according to legend, banged the 33rd headmaster of Hogwarts until both their legs went numb in his office on the last day of school, then murdered him so that no one would know she wasn't a virgin. Since no evidence could convict her, she was "innocent".) Ron's over-eager hands were about to take them to second base when Bridget broke away. Ron made a longing noise. "Oh hush you," She pecked him on the cheek. "Cutie."

Ron whined. He kissed her month, his open, and tried to put his tongue in her pie-hole. She pulled away again. "Ron," she said, more stern this time. "I'm going to try and join your house. So that we can spend more time together. Oh, and I like to cuddle after sex, and just talk."

Ron blinked at her. "Er. Okay. How are you planning to do that?"

"Well, I'd sort of lay against you…and we can rub each other's backs…"

"No, I mean join Gryffindor."

"You'll see." To his horny teenage delight, she gave his ego a squeeze. They commenced tongue wrestling.

Dumbledore, seemingly at random, stood up during dinner that Friday. Bridget smirked to herself. Earlier that day she had given Ron a bag full of gold to bid on her. Ron had wanted to know if he could keep the leftovers, to which Bridget had yelled her reply in his ear, ending the discussion.

"Okay arsehats, listen up, 'cause I ain't gonna say it twice." The shriveled old man spoke. As usual when he addressed the student body of Hogwarts, he was high. "Today, a certain student of Hogwarts wants to change houses. In order to do so, she will be auctioned off. She will go to the house of the highest bidder. The proceeds will go to the Find a Replacement for Filch Quick Before his Glowering and Whining Drives Us All Mad Fund." This caused a cheer from the tables in front of the headmaster. "Bridget Goyle, will you please come up here?"

Malfoy said loudly, "And we can do whatever we like to the person we buy?"

Dumbledore scowled. "Of course not. IF YOU WERE LISTENING, I SAID Bridget would go to the house of the highest bidder. Grow a brain, stupidface."

Draco looked taken aback.

Harry Potter, who was still in his ghetto phase, sniffed his yellowing wife beater and adjusted his do-rag.

"Professor Flitwick, if you will do the honors?" Dumbledore politely turned it over to the vertically-challenged teacher.

"Thank you, headmaster." The professor peeped. "Do I hear a sickle?"

"Two." Draco raised his hand.

"Three." Hermione raised her hand for the millionth time that day.

Ron was asleep. Bridget chucked her shoe at him. He snorted and said "Oy!" in annoyance, sitting up. He threw he shoe back at her. It hit Snape.

Bridget glared at him.

"Oh yeah, er, one galleon." He raised his hand.

Flitwick waited. "One galleon, going once. Twice. SOL—"

"—TWO GALLEONS!" Malfoy yelled. Hermione scowled.

"Two galleons, going—"

"Three!"

"Use that money to buy a prettier face, Wesley! Four galleons!"

Bridget made an angry noise and started after Drake Cake. She was held back by Hagrid.

Neville raised his hand shyly. "Er."

"Speak up, boy!" Flitwick's squeak was barely audible.

"Er, ten. Galleons." He added.

Draco glowered and sat down, not remembering having had stood up in the first place, because I didn't write that he did. "Damn author…"

Ron beamed, then frowned at Neville. "Fifteen."

Silence gripped the Great Hall and began shaking it, sending students clattering out of their seats and making a great deal of noise. The hush vanished.

"Fifteen, going once! Twice! SOLD! To the gentleman with the bad haircut!"

"Hey." Ron couldn't say much more after that, other than "Ooff," due the fact that Bridget had just jumped on him in delight.

**Okay, I know, short chapter. Next chapta: a makeover, popping cherries, Trimspa, Bob, bad poetry, and grapefruit.**


	6. Hermione's Roomate & Hermione Made Over

**CHAPTER SIX – HERMIONE'S ROOMATE AND HERMIONE MADE OVER**

**Disclaimer: **Feh I don't know Harry Potter. He owns me.

Hermione held up what she had just knitted and put it against her body to see how it looked. It was a knitted black thong. "Nice Alans," remarked Lavender.

"What do you think, Crookskanks?" The cat fled the room.

Hermione continued to talk, either not noticing or not caring that her feline companion had made itself scarce. "I think I need a new look," she began to strip off her pants to try it on. "I mean, I'm getting kind of bored with the same-old-same-old Hermione…I SHALL TRANSFORM INTO…HOAR-MIONE!"

Professor McGonagall, who was posting a message that wasn't really important to plot except for the fact that she was posting it, said, "Granger! Please! Not in the Common Room."

"Oh, poo." She retreated to her room. When she got there, Bridget was there. So were Seamus and Dean, grunting and moving furniture around at the former-Slytherin's command.

Flitch dropped a bag on the floor with a muffled thud. Neville came after, puffing as he carried an obviously heavy trunk, and put it at the foot of an empty five-poster bed. (The _real_ reason boys weren't allowed in the girl's dorm was so they wouldn't see that their beds were one more poster than theirs.) Bridget jumped onto the bed. "Thanks Neville baby. I never could've lifted that heavy thing all the way up here."

Neville blushed with a smile and ran from the room. Bridget lifted the trunk onto her bed with one hand. Hermione gaped at her. "Oh, hey roomie!"

Hermione wondered were to begin. "Er. I don't think I could live with all _this,_"—she motioned toward the array of mismatched furniture, including a psychiatrist's couch, a tire swing, a double bicycle, a grapefruit beanbag chair, assorted lava lamps, and a bushel of green apples—"and maintain my sanity."

"That old thing? I though you got rid of it long ago. It only gets in the way." Bridget pointed to were she wanted Filch to put the fish tank.

"Do you even _have_ fish?"

"I like the tank."

"What is this…?" Dean was holding her battery operated boyfriend.

"That's my bazzin'—"

Hermione elbowed Bridget in the ribs. "It's for mixing smoothies."

"Suuuuuuuure."

"Belt up, Dean! You don't know a damn thing about Bob."

"Bob?"

Hermione dragged Bridget away, saying, "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO…"

"YES! YES, YES, YES, YES!" Bridget laughed manically.

Hermione ran from the room, screaming. Bridget yelled after her, "It's better than a slap in the face with a wet kipper!"

That night… 

Bridget and Ron shared both an armchair and a generous amount of spit. Hermione was nearby composing poetry…

_To feel death's embrace would be too kind_

_black lace over my face makes me blind_

_the blood drips so slowly I want to choke_

_the darkness told me: go for broke_

_I make my cut, and it runs deep_

_dead leaves blow in a lonely alley_

_where dirty bums sleep_

…wait. That didn't seem right…

(A/N: eh…I had a little fun there…cringe)

"DO YOU MIND, GRANGER?" Hermione jumped a mile at the sound of Bridget's voice.

"Oh, sure. No problem," Hermione began to read her poem out loud.

"_Do you mind leaving?"_ Bridget said, interrupting her.

As she left, Hermione heard Bridget whisper, "Your room or mine?"

_MADAM MALKINE'S ROBES FOR ALL OCCASIONS_

_And we mean ALL occasions!_

_Let's hope all occasions include seduction,_ thought a somewhat distraught Hermione.

As it turned out, it did.

Hermione left the shop feeling much better. Armed with her new, sluttier attire, she set off to buy some makeup. Not sure what she was looking for, she simply purchased the "prettiest" colors of shadow, blush and lipstick. She also bought a gallon of Sleek-Easies, some ill-fitting lingerie, and a cosmetic spell book.

She was ready to rock.

Or was she? She had supplies, but she needed expertise…

"LAVENDER! BITCH, I NEED A FAVOR! GET YOUR FAT ASS OVER HERE!"

Lavender was dicking about with Ginny in the Common Room. "Whaaaaaaaaaaat!"

"I WANNA BE 'MADEOVER'. MAKE IT HAPPEN, ARSEHAT."

"Hermione. I'm _right here_. No need to yell."

Hermione blushed. "Sorry. Got a little carried away."

Lavender was flicking through the spellbook Hermione had gotten, _Spells for Beautification and Seduction._ "Is there anything in there to help get rid of my humongous arse?"

"You have a very nice ass, Hermione." Lavender lied through her teeth.

"I do not."

"Like Beyonce. Seriously."

"Who the hell is 'Beyonce'?"

"Eh…"

They set to work, flat ironing Hermione's bushy locks and drenching it in Sleek-Easy. The Gryffindor managed to stuff herself into a mini skirt, horrid bright stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, and a tube top that kept drooping towards her abused toes. Then came the tanning spells, makeup, (she didn't have an eyeliner pencil, so instead she used Magic Marker) and jewelry: over-large hoops and some old Mardi gras beads.

(A/N: Do the British celebrate Mardi gras? Does anyone care?)

"I know I'm beautiful, but am I SEXY?" Hermione inquired of Lavender when the transformation was complete.

She looked like an over-done transsexual.

"Overwhelmingly." Lavender replied. "Do I get my ten galleons now…?"

"YOU GET NOTHING!" Hermione ran from the room, cackling. Well, actually, she slipped on her 6-inch pencil-thin heels and fell flat on her face. Her nose began to bleed. "Oh my god, my new clothes!" She bled on Lavender instead.

"You know what? Keep your money. I'll just go change and report to counseling."

"Huh? Whatever, never mind." Hermione set off to find Ron in order to seduce him.

She never got it that far. She was found by a stoned Dumbledore, mistaken for Snape in a drag, and carted to the dungeons to "rethink things".

(A/N: …Dumbledore is a stoner…)

**THE NEXT MORNING…**

"WAKEY-WAKEY! UP AND SHAKEY!"

Hermione screamed and rolled off her bed in alarm, hitting the hard floor…well…rather hard.

Bridget giggled. "Good morning, roomie! I made pancakes."

"Really?"

"Yes, but Ron-ton" (A/N: Like won ton) "and I ate them all. So I made you toast."

"Thank you."

"But the toast was kind of burnt, so I fed it to Crookskanks."

"Oh."

"So get you ugly ass down to the Great Hall before breakfast is over."

Hermione lunged at Bridget, but she dodged her and left their room. Hermione went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She nearly died of a heart attack. Her hair was frightful. Rebelling to being straightened, it had become enormously frizzy and huge overnight. She had the worst case of bed head. Ever. Her hair was sticking up from the pillow. She smothered a scream, as tears welled up in her eyes. Shuddering, she took the brush from the counter by the sink and attempted to comb the ends. The brush broke.

"LAVENDER!"

Her head felt light was she headed to her next class. Lavender had tired all the untangling charms she knew, but to no avail. She had been forced to cut it. The haircut was an unusual sort, sort of monk-from-the-Middle-Ages meets pudding-bowl style. Students pointed and laughed. She didn't care. She knew she looked good.

She flounced over to Colin. "Colin baby, I want you to take my picture."

"…Why…"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO, ARSERAG, SO DO IT AND NO BACK TALK!" Hermione bitch-slapped the poor boy, who did as he was told, whimpering.

"I want it developed by tonight, or there'll be some hell to pay," she commanded.

Hermione painstakingly pasted her face over a Playboy model's. It was an eye-twisting image. Hermione was shown with a strange sexy body that was disproportionate to her head, sprawled out on a grand piano, wearing nothing but a lacy white thong and heels. Her eyes were squinted, and he head was too big for reality, but she thought it looked feasible. She stuffed the photo and a short letter into an envelope, gave it to the owl, and threw the bird out the window.

Victor Krum was lifting weights in the Durmstrang gym (Hogwarts wasn't cool enough to have a gym) when a tired-looking owl flew in with an envelope addressed to him.

_Vicky,_

_I've missed you so much since you left. How is the Quidditch shit?_

_I just wanted to say, yes. I will be your girlfriend._

_Mione_

Krum fainted.


	7. Hermione is a Bother

**CHATPER SEVEN – HERMIONE IS A BOTHER**

**Disclaimer:** Who even reads these? I've said it for the past six chapters, I'll say it again. I don't own Harry Potter. What a shocker.

Ron saw Hermione in Charms that afternoon. She kept playing with her hair and sticking her chest out at him. "Hi Hermione," he greeted her.

Hermione chewed her eighteen sticks of gum loudly. Because even though Hogwarts wasn't cool enough to have a gym, or electricity, it had a gumball machine. "Don't even think about flirting with me, Ronald. I'm taken."

"Okay then."

"By who, you ask?"

"I never said—"

"By VICTOR KRUM. The INTERNATIONAL Quidditch star."

"_I don't care."_

"What's the matter? You look jealous."

"That's funny, because I'm not even a little bit jealous. I have a girlfriend, Hermione."

"Oooo, RONALD is JEALOUS."

"Please stop calling me that."

"He wants to KISS ME, he wants to MAKE LOVE TO ME…"

Ron resisted the urge to strangle the bitch.

"…He wants to love me ALL NIGHT LONG."

He walked away, annoyed within an inch of his life.

"He wants to…hey…"

_Dear Hermione,_

_The "Quidditch shit" is fine. Are you out of your fucking mind? I already told you, I met someone. I'm very happy. Please leave me alone._

_And what the hell was up with the picture?_

_Victor_

_Dearest Victor,_

_Oops! I must've accidentally put the picture in the wrong envelope. I'm pursuing a career in modeling. Did you like it? You can keep it. WINK_

_I'm soooooo glad we're girlfriend and boyfriend. I think we're going to last 4-EVER! LOL!_

_Yours forever,_

_Hermione_

_Hermione,_

_IF I SEE YOUR OWL AGAIN, I WILL HEX IT. _

_PLEASE DO CONTACT ME AGAIN._

_Yours,_

_Victor_

_Vicky-boo,_

_I know the outside says this is from Harry, but it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I love you, and please don't take this personally, but you're a little touchy._

_You should've heard my friend Ron when he found out we were going out. He was soooo jealous. I think I have to break things off with you, to spare his feelings. I know it hurts, but it's not you. You're wonderful. But I think Ron is love with me._

_Yours always,_

_Hermione_

**Short chapter! Wowza. "Steaming hockey players, Batman!" (heh heh) Sorry bout that…next chapter you can look forward to: Bunny, gay Slytherins, a new band, and what every fanfic is incomplete without: Hermione drunk. Plus some more nonsense. Please tell me if you see any grammatical errors, (besides fragments) because I'm a grammar Nazi.**


	8. Hairy Pooter and the Typoz

**CHATER EIGHT – WRAPPING UP THE PLOT…OR NOT…**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. dances and I'm glad. Because he probably isn't very tidy. On with the shit!

Draco was doing sit-ups in the Slytherin common room. His angelic feet were tucked under a heavy green leather sofa. His shirtless upper body was streaked with sweat, his flaxen locks, soaked.

Crabbe tried not to drool. Ever since he had brought some pills that were supposed to help him play Quidditch from a stranger in the Hog's Head, he had been noticing some…changes. Sure, he was hitting things, namely Bludgers, a whole helluva lot harder, but there were _other_ changes as well. He often caught himself staring at body parts boys don't normally stare at on other boys, mainly Draco. Also, certain parts of his own body were shrinking.

Snape didn't even hide his drool.

Draco finished, collapsing unto the floor with a tired noise. Several first-years rushed over, offering water, their virginity, and other assorted gifts. He took a water bottle with thanks and refused the rest. He sent them away, slapping them on the butt as they left.

(A/N: shrug Slytherins are gay…)

Draco jerked his luminous head to flip his corn silk-blonde hair out of his dreamy steel gray eyes, which were framed by smoky pale lashes. He smiled at his professor, showing pallid teeth and healthy gums. He _did_ brush faithfully every day.

At this point, while Draco was being exceedingly sexy and turning an awful lot of heads, Hermione waltzed in. She was wearing a magenta sequin halter top, a micro-miniskirt with a little ruffle at the bottom, and chunky platform shoes that made obnoxious clunking noises when she walked. "Draco baby," she slurred drunkenly, "I'm here for you. TAKE ME!" She threw her arms wide and flung her head back.

"How. The hell. Did _you_ get in _here_?" Draco said, in shock.

Hermione smiled in what she thought was a sly and mysterious manner and staggered haphazardly over to a stunned Malfoy, draping herself on his form. "_I_…" he could smell the alcohol in her rancid breath, "I slipped—" she hiccupped, "—that—guy. You know, the one with the…" she gestured vaguely at the air. "The—thing. On his head. I slipped him a galleon, and I was like, I told him, 'YOU CAN'T—" she muttered into the god-like Slytherin's shoulder for a while, then raised her voice again, "—AND NO PICKLES!"

"Are you drunk?" Draco asked, somewhat stupidly.

"I was so—hot—" she poked his chest for emphasis, "I figured you want to sex me SO BAD. So I came over here, and here I am. Here."

"FINE. If I have my way with you, will you please leave?"

Hermione blinked. "You mean you will?"

"…Sure…what's the harm?"

She was getting excited. "Do you want to do a threesome? That would be sooo groovy!" She slobbered a little bit.

"…Why not? Who were you thinking?" Draco did his best to hide the boredom in his arousing voice.

"I bet HARRY would do it if I asked him. I'll go do that now…" she started to walk away, but after taking one step, fell over, and passed out.

When she woke up, she was in a bed. It was dark. She sat up, and immediately regretted it, as her head throbbed. How had she gotten here? She tried to think, but it hurt her hurt too much. She would remember later. Right now she wanted to rest…

Ginny walked down the hall, her red hair in her face to hide her hate. She resented this school. No one accepted her for who she was. Not that motherfucker Molly, not Frank, not anyone. She was all alone. She was alone with her dark thoughts, disappointment flooding through her veins, cold as ice. She thought about the bottle of hair dye potion she had stolen from Snape's stores. It was in her pocket, she could feel the warm glass. She made a detour to the bathroom.

She put her head in the sink, running the water. It was cold. She didn't care. She wet her hair, massaged in the potion, and rinsed it. She put some in her eyebrows too. Looking in the mirror at her black new hair, she smiled shyly. She grinned widely when she realized she was alone.

Next was her uniform. Her removed her skirt and used a charm to take off six inches, making it shorter. She took off her vest, loosened her tie, and opened her robes so they billowed dramatically behind her when she walked. She put her skirt back on. It was a little shorter than she intended, but oh well.

Hermione was feeling slightly better when she awoke the second time. Being that damn annoying takes a lot out of you. Ask anyone. The last thing she remembered was being in the kitchen with Dumbledore, knocking back a couple Fire Whiskeys. Then the elves had been irritating, so they'd given them the day off. Then…then what? Images of Dumbledore dancing floated through her abused brain. Oh yes, she thought, the headmaster was a terrible dancer. I sure showed him. He didn't know a thing. It was funny teaching him the Harlem shake, she had to say.

Reality struck brutally. She had gotten skanked up to find that bitch Ronald and shag him, but found Professor Dumbledore, who was willing to share his booze, instead. Then she'd gotten wasted. Where the hell was she? She looked around blearily, sitting up from the green Power Rangers bedding. There were posters of Victor Krum, her ex-boyfriend in his retarded Quidditch outfits, showing off, topless girls, and what looked like kitchen appliances. She scratched her head.

Malfoy walked in, holding a tray with tea and shit on it. "Here." He held it out to her.

"Thank you," Hermione carefully removed the mug from the tray and sipped, suddenly aware of the fact that her hair was a greasy poof. "Err…d'you mind…not mentioning any of this to, um, anyone?"

Malfoy didn't say anything. He put the tray down, hiding a smile. He left and said over his shoulder, "If you want anything to wear, my robes are in the trunk."

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized whose bed she must be in. With a shriek, she leapt out and saw she'd ripped her flimsy sequin top dancing, or passing out, or something. Fuck. She dug through the trunk the Slytherin had mentioned until she found some robes without mysterious white stains on them. As she took off her shirt, she felt like she was being watched, besides by the poster of Krum. She was glad she'd worn a bra today. Dressed, she snarffed the donuts (or PASTIES, as the English call them) and gulped the rest of the tea.

As if he'd been waiting for this cue, Malfoy came in a sat down on his bed. Hermione couldn't find anywhere else to sit, so she stood. They looked at each other for a second, and then Hermione felt it was necessary to explain, "I was drunk."

"I could tell."

"Did I, um, molest you?"

"No." Malfoy had and evil idea, like he often did. "Well, a little. You know. Tried to grab bits of me, and, you know, attempted servicing me."

"Did we…?"

"Depends on what you qualify as…yeah."

"Oh my God. What did I do?"

"You came in, yelling for me to 'take you', and came over to me and started, like, sucking on my shoulder. That's when you got grab-by. So I took you up here to let you sleep it off, but the last thing you wanted to do was sleep."

"OH MY GOD!"

"But you passed out before you could do any terrible damage."

Hermione scuttled away. On her way to her room, she bumped into Ginny. Ginny looked surprised at first, and then smiled at her. Her hair was black. She winked suggestively. "Hey Herm," she greeted.

"Er…" Hermione was a bit thrown off by the abusing of her name, as we all were. "…hi Ginny."

"How are you?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Hermione yelled in a very spastic manner, scampering away. She decided against going to her room and left the castle. She crossed the grounds and burst in on Hagrid, who wasn't doing anything you sick people! He was watering his pants. I mean plants. ANYWAY.

"Allo, 'Ermione," the thug grunted brutishly.

Hermione briskly greeted him. "Hello Hagrid."

"Whasser matter, 'Ermione?"

"Oh Hagrid, I had just a dreadful day. I got drunk and tried to sex Draco. But I passed out. How was your day?"

"S'Alright," Hagrid said.

**KAY, I'M GOING TO SKIP TO THE NEXT MORNING BECAUSE THIS IS BORING AND I WANT TO GET ON WITH IT, PLUS I'M LAZY AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THAT SO HERE WE GO…**

In the _Daily Prophet_ the next morning was some surprising news. Hermione read it out loud to Harry, who was the only one brave enough to sit near her, for fear that something might crawl out of her hair and attack them. "I'm a GANGSTA." H. Potta was saying. "A STAIGHT UP—"

Hermione rudely interrupted him in her annoying whiney voice. Potta's eye twitched. "'Last night the notorious Lord Voldemort'—I see they're printing his name now—'was CAPTURED at approximately two in the morning. He was buying a six-pack of Red Bull at a local Seven Eleven at around midnight. He was caught by Arnold Stickshift, an Auror who happened to have a cash register fetish and was working the late shift. There was struggle, but thanks to quick actions by the Ministry, Voldemort was speedily incarcerated.' Do you see what this means Harry? You're FREE! No more scar whining! I mean pain! For you."

"I coulda busted his ugly pale ass anyways if I wanted."

Hermione was getting excited. "THIS CALLS FOR A CELEBRATION! BEER, WIZARD LIQUOR, TOPLESS TABLE DANCING AND POOL!"

"I found a bunny rabbit."

"What?"

"I found a little bunny rabbit. On the floor."

"Um, the Dark Lord was just been caught and you're banging on about a rabbit."

"He should be mine and I shall call him…Bunny."

"Original."

"OHMIFUCKINGGOD IS THAT YOUR BUNNY? SOOOOO CUTE!" A hoard of bouncy girls with their perky boobs hanging out of the top of their robes trotted over.

"Rrrrr…" Hermione growled darkly.

"Bunny is a thug." Harry Potter nodded in approval. "G-Unit."

Malfoy raced past, pursued by a gang of thirteen-year-old fan girls clad in kitty-emblemized shirts and clutching napkins, screaming, "WE GET YOU, DRACO! YOU'RE JUST MISUNDERSTOOD!"

One, with frizzy blonde hair, screeched, "YOU WERE ABUSED BY YOUR FATHER!"

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH—"

"—HERMIONE!"

"—HARRY!"

"—GINNY!"

He tried in vain to yell over his shoulder that he wasn't fucking in love with any of the above mentioned, but nobody was listening.

"WE'LL LISTEN TO YOUR TROUBLES, DRACO! YOU JUST WANT TO BE LOVED! COME TALK ABOUT FEELINGS AND HAVE COFFEE!"

(A/N: O.o Maybe that's enough COOL GREEN APPLE gum for me…chews loudly)

Anyway, back to Harry, Bunny, and Hermione…

Bunny was being passed around and Bridget sidled over to Harry Potter. She sat on his lap. H. Potta asked her, "How did those shit-wads know where to find that nizzle Drake Cake, ho'?"

"_Someone_ tipped them off." Bridget raised her eyebrows. "Since when have you been such a gangster?"

"Since today, bitch. Get off me, motherfucker." He shoved her off. "Whore, don't cheat on Ron with me."

"Sor-ry. We broke up anyways."

"Why?"

"I cheated on him with that ho' Seamus. I don't know what he's so upset about, it was only one night. Meaningless sex…oh well."

"You are a sick, twisted human being."

"Thanks Harry. You're alright yourself."

It was then that Harry Potter realized he hadn't been speaking with an accent. "Damn." He went off into the night.

Okay, it was morning. You get the idea.

"I think Hogwarts needs a rock band." Harry Potter, now back to normal, was telling his dormitory. "Neville can be the drummer, because the drummer is always ugly, and let's see…Seamus can be on keyboard, Dean can be a guitarist, Ron on bass, and me as the lead singer, of course. We shall be—" he unveiled a poster no one had noticed before, "—Harry Pooter and the Typoz!" The poster had a picture of Harry Potter bent down yelling into a microphone on a dark stage surrounded by glum-looking band members with their instruments. Harry's hair was styled in a slight Mohawk and wearing black, but tastefully, and a red tie.

"I don't think I want to be part of a band that has that kind of an image." Seamus said.

"Whatever Seamus, you asshole. You just want to have more free time so you can try to sleep with Bridget. Just because she's easy doesn't mean you have to." Harry Potter spat because he was cranky. He needed a nap.

Seamus stood up. "You're such a ball-ache, Harry." He left.

Harry Potter scowled. "DAMNIT, now we need a keyboard person."

As if on cue, Ginny walked in. He hair was black, and she looked hot in a bad-dye job kind of way. Her skirt was short, that was for sure. "What are you guys doing?"

Harry Potter yelled exasperatedly (because this is MY story and he DOESN'T like Ginny) "Ginny! We are TRYING to think of a keyboard person guy for my band!"

Everyone waited for the obvious solution to sink in for Harry.

**FIVE MINUTES LATER…**

Ginny, pissed, began to leave. "WAIT! I've got it! Ginny, YOU can be the keyboardist!" His band members looked peevishly at him. "It's settled then. Welcome the Harry Pooter and the Typoz, Ginny."

**I made up for the short chapter in exchange for a long one. Fair enough? I sure hope so because you don't have a choice. AHAHAHAH. NEXT WEEK (chapter): Horny Neville, hot Ginny, Harry's fun-filled interview, Bill, and fun! Tune in…same BAT TIME, same BAT PLACE.**


	9. Typoz in Trouble

**CHAPTER NINE – TYPOZ IN TROUBLE**

**Disclaimer:** In how many languages can I say I don't own Harry Potter? Okay, just one. Fuck. Oh well. Let's rock then, shall we?

Neville was staring at Ginny. Drool dribbled down his nub-like chin. No one had noticed he had stopped playing the drums yet. Ginny was leaning over the keyboard with her back to him. That short skirt was awfully…short. He could see—wondrous things. It was amazing. He dared not to blink: the beautiful sight before him could leave. Alas, she turned around. "Neville, are you playing?"

Harry came up to Neville and smacked him upside the head. Ron sympathetically handed him a towel for his drool. Neville blushed and wiped his ugly face. "Shall we get on with the rehearsal, then?" Harry demanded with his hands high on his hips, much like Forrest Gump or a pregnant woman. "Once again, from the top," Harry stomped his foot four times, counting into the mike they had conjured. "One, two, three, four!" He began haphazardly banging his head to the music as it started. He opened his mouth and slowly commenced to sing. "You think you know…about me. But you don't. No, you don't. You are a dumb ugly bitch…I want to hit you sometimes. Because you are STOOPID. You make me so mad. You don't know about me, no you don't, no you don't. So you can just go FUCK YOURSELF, 'cause I won't do that for you."

"STOP, stop, stop." Ginny stuck her hip out. "Who wrote these lyrics?"

Harry stuck his lip out. "Me…"

"Um, no offence, but they suck."

"I'd like to see you do better!"

"Well…maybe something more like this…um, guys can you start the song?" The music started. "And now—there's a you-shaped hole in my life. This music, this mood, it's all hypnotizing. This emptiness feeling far from flying…I'm dying. Feel that pain in your side? That's your knife; thought I'd give it back to you. You bitch, you bitch…you fucking betrayed me."

"No, I like mine better." Harry was the only one not standing in stunned silence.

"We're using yours, Ginny."

"But what about mine…"

"TOO BAD!" everyone yelled.

"Bloody hell," added Ron.

HAIRY POOTER AND THE TYPOZ WERE SPREADING IN FAME. IT HELPED THAT THE FAMOUS HARRY POTTER WAS FRONTING THE BAND; THIS WAS PROVED WHEN THE _DAILY PROPHET_ WROTE AN ARTICLE CALLED "THE BOY WHO LIVED TO MAKE MUSIC". HERE IS THE INTERVIEW PORTION OF THE ARTICLE…

_The world-famous Harry Potter is soon becoming famous for not only stopping Lord Voldemort, like, so many times (!) but also by his musical talent. His deep lyrics and catchy tunes have hypnotized the hearts of many a wizard or witch. Here is _the Daily Prophet_'s EXCLUSIVE interview with the charming young man._

_Daily Prophet: Is it a challenge starting a band with your sort of "I'm going to save the world" image?_

_Harry Potter: Actually, it was and it wasn't. My fame obviously helped the publicity of the band, because honestly who _doesn't_ want to know what Harry Potter is doing? (HP laughs girlishly) But at the same time, it made it not easy._

_DP: You are famous as well as sexy. What kind of a burden does this put on you and the band, if any? And if it doesn't, than what does?_

_HP: I realize my sexiness and embrace it. In fact, I bathe daily. Practically. Okay, hardly ever. I just use a lot of deodorant...when I can find it. (HP vacantly stares into space)_

_DP: I like your clothes. Who are you wearing?_

_HP: What is this, Cosmo? I'm currently in a breezy seaside ensemble by GAP._

_DP: Well you pull it off nicely._

_HP: Thank you._

_DP: You're welcome._

_HP: Um…so…is the interview over?_

_DP: Do you want it to be?_

_HP: You're hot._

_DP: So are you._

_HP: Let's make out._

_DP: (DP smiles) Let's._

_(DP and HP make out)_

_A couple hours later…_

_DP: Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter._

_HP: Please. Call me Hairy._

The Typos were on tour. They were in Ron's brother Bill's neighborhood, so Harry and Ronald McStupid (I mean…eh…) went to see him.

I'm not going to say Bill was fat, but…

Yeah.

He was.

He was, like, 400 pounds. It was sad. And it _grossed Harry out._ They quickly were informed by Bill's house elf, Knobby, over tea that he had gained the weight out of depression. Fleur had dumped him on his sorry ass.

"But…why?" asked that skank Ginny.

Bill tearfully explained, "We had an argument. She thought I was all about sex, drugs and bank deposits. She wanted to settle down and have some kids, but I wasn't ready for that life, man." He took a hit from a smoking joint he held between his index and middle finger. "I wanted adventure and new things, but all Fleur wanted was a fucking golden retriever and a station wagon. She kept banging on about me only wanting her for her luscious body. Not true. She was a good cook too. GREAT in bed."

Everyone wished they could scrub their brains.

"Ginny. You look different. You lose weight?"

"I dyed my hair."

"No, that's not it. Did you…Uhhhh…lose weight?"

"Fuck you."

"What?" Bill's lower lip was shiny with spit. He bent forward and little and passed out all over the stale teacakes. Knobby came over and snapped his fingers. A bucket of cold water appeared. He abruptly dunked Bill's head in it and fanned him off. "Knobby…" Bill muttered, "Knobby…You're so good to me…come here and give us a kiss."

Everyone took a step back. Harry grabbed Ron's arm to check Ron's Little Mermaid watch. "Well, we have a concert in fourteen hours. We'd better go get ready."

"Yeah," agreed Dean.

"Yeah," agreed Neville.

"Yup," Ginny nodded. Okay, fine. "Yeah," agreed Ginny.

"'Bye, you losers! See you on the mother fucking flip side!" Bill's cheeks jiggled.

Neville had the humiliating job of sound check, where you test the microphones. "Check, one two. Mic one, all set." As he was doing this, He scanned the early crowd. He nearly fell off the stage in shock when he saw Bridget and Malfoy holding hands in the assembly. Aw, what the hell. He did fall of the stage.

"Neville! Are you okay?" Bridget's boobs were hanging above his forehead as he lay on his back.

"Doing better." Neville grinned.

"Good." Bridget helped him up, then went to stand by Malfoy. She immediately plunged her hand into his back pocket. Malfoy's, not Neville's. Ew.

The first song pretty much sucked but the people there didn't care. They were too busy marveling at the coolness of the band's wardrobe and how hot Harry supposedly was.

"Baby, I'll be right back," Malfoy yelled in Bridget's ear over the noise.

"What?" she yelled back. The ferret left without explaining. He somehow snuck backstage without any interference with the security guards, which where kung-fu trained midgets riding on the backs of tamed tigers. He made his way past the piles of empty donut boxes to the sound equipment. He noticed a switch that read "Harry's voice track, that's right, he lip-synchs folks. DO NOT TOUCH." He switched it to OFF.

Immediately Harry's singing stopped. Harry stood there as the band played on. "Mike." Harry called someone backstage. Some bald guy ran right past Draco, who still had his finger on the switch and went to Harry.

"Who could have done this?" Mike was shrieking hysterically.

Ginny, who was watching all this, stepped up to Harry Potter's microphone. "Um, I guess I'll finish this one for Harry," she said as a dozen teenage boys looked up her skirt, and began to sing. Ginny, not the perverted youngsters. And she was good. Really good. The crowd liked he more than Harry, as a matter of fact.

In desperation, Malfoy sprinted on stage. "EVERYONE!" He grabbed a mic. "Ginny Weasly is GAY! A regular HOMO!"

Ginny glared at Draco with considerable malice. "Funny you should say that, Malfoy, since you're the fag here. Yes, okay? I'm gay."

"Really?" asked Harry.

"Really?" came from behind the drum set in the background.

"Yes, really."

"Oh." Said everyone in the auditorium.

Malfoy was panicking. "Dean had plastic surgery! He had a nose job!"

"This nose—" Dean tapped the side of his nose with his index finger, "—is re—" the nose flew off and landed in some old witch's Pepsi. What an old lady was doing at a rock concert, I'll never know.

"Whoa, I'm right again." Draco said to no one in particular. "Ginny wants to have a threesome with me and Bridget!" he yelled hopefully.

"Uh, no." replied everyone in the auditorium.

**Yep, Ginny is gay! I was so mad about (SPOILER ALERT)** Ginnyand Harry liking each other in the sixth book** (OK IT'S OVER) that I had to take matters into my own hands. Cho is an emo bitch, Hermione is strictly in Friendsville, and Ginny is gay. Facts, J.K., facts! Well, maybe not the Ginny being gay thing. That was pretty much my idea. But how else would she know so much about kissing girls that she would trash-talk Won-Won's technique? Admit the inevitable.**


End file.
